


(not quite) a fairy tale

by justbygrace



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Pregnancy, So much angst, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14391348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: "A life without trials is no life at all and they were always determined to live life to the fullest."





	(not quite) a fairy tale

**Author's Note:**

> All the love to CSV for the quick and dirty beta.

They marry young. That's at least half the problem. The ink barely dry on their diplomas, hardly old enough to vote, let alone order a drink - they go to the courthouse and sign on the dotted line and just like that they are married. And it was good; they were happy. It was everything they wanted since they were eight years old swinging in the park just down from the estate. And at first it was exactly like it was always going to be: John and Rose, hand-in-hand, loving, laughing, living together in a too small flat, dancing at 2 am in their underwear, and reminding everyone not to give up on fairy tales. 

And then it changes. Of course it does. A life without trials is no life at all and they were always determined to live life to the fullest. John had spent every available moment as a child singing to anyone who would listen and when the record company comes with the proposal, the offer, the contract listing a tantalizing amount of money, well, he signs. She's happy for him. No, really, she is. It's just - this wasn't the life they'd planned, the one they were working towards, but it was okay, it was alright, it was all going to work out fine. That's what he told her, late at night, stumbling home from recording and reeking of budding fame and fortune. 

The money is good. At first. It buys a house (a house in a part of the city that makes her feel uncomfortable in her own skin, but fits him better than she thought possible); it buys high-end furniture, the latest cars and gadgets, and jewelry she has nowhere to wear. The money goes swiftly sour after that. Oh, it still comes in - trickling at first and then pouring, flooding their house, their yard, their friends, their lives, until she wakes up and she doesn't remember the last time he spent the night (it was six days and as many hours ago and she determinedly shuts off her brain and goes to be sick in the bathroom and violently slams off the radio when his voice croons over it).

It shouldn't surprise her. It does, but it shouldn't. The glossy photos plaster the news and she rubs her belly and resists calling her mum. Jackie knows now - hell, the whole world knows - and she doesn't need the pity, the judgement, the anger. He calls, sporadically, and visits, twice, and sometimes he texts her at 2 am: photos and sloppy paragraphs and she can smell the alcohol and cheap perfume from half a world away. 

She doesn't rebuild for herself. If it was only her, she'd probably curl up in a corner or maybe burn the house down and use the ashes to feed a new identity. But it's not just her anymore. And it hasn't been since the visit before his last - the one that ended with a brutal argument, but started with a brilliant shag. Or maybe it began with the argument and ended with a shag. Or maybe it was all the same. By this time she doesn't know and she doesn't care (the words mock her and she wraps her arms around her middle and very deliberately doesn't think at all). 

This wasn't in the plan. But then, none of this had been in the plan. At first, she thinks of a different solution, but if she can't have him at least she can have this and she needs something. And so she bites her lips and raises her head and goes to parenting classes and birthing classes and she talks to the other women there who pretend not to notice the tears in each other's eyes. 

She gives birth alone. Oh, not really. Jackie is there anyway and Amy (whose husband is stationed overseas) and Clara (whose husband was killed in an act of terror). But no one else and she changed her number some time ago to prevent herself from reaching out. When they place the infant in her arms, she is not surprised to see John's soft brown eyes staring up at her and she names the baby Ian Peter after absent men and prays to anyone who listens that she has the ability to raise him to be the one who stays.

It's hard. She knew it would be, but sleepless nights, a wailing infant, and no one else to pull diaper duty takes its toll. She switches the radio on by accident one night and little Ian falls asleep with a smile to the sound of his daddy's voice singing about a love she doesn't think he even remembers how to feel.

The months pass. And then the years. Suddenly it's been been four years and life is reaching an even level of play dates and cuddly Saturday cartoons and a handsome man at the coffee shop starts having a smile on his face especially for her. Which is the moment the doorbell rings and the whole world stops and restarts.

John's thinner than she remembers. Thinner and older and infinitely more tired. She thinks about not letting him in, but his eyes trace over her face and she steps back before she can second-guess herself (that's a lie, she's run every scenario through her mind a dozen times but he has some rights before they sign the papers sitting on her counter and the person he used to be deserves a chance). The boy who runs into the room at the sound of a visitor is all elbows and knees and gravity-defying hair and his father loses his balance completely at the sight.

There is no need for a conversation, but they have one anyway. John's voice is broken and apologetic and she has to clench her nails into her hands to keep from screaming. She lets him spend the last thirty minutes of the movie with his son and then she sends him out the door and tells him to try again tomorrow. 

Ian's sharp and bright and he holds his mum's hand while she chokes back tears and they spend the rest of the day making cookies and Science experiments and if they occasionally look over their shoulders for someone who isn't there, neither of them say anything about it. 

Tomorrow comes as it always does and John's at the door before the sun's rays have completely touched the ground. They spend the day together and then the weekend and then the week, but she closes the door in his face promptly every evening and falls asleep alone and definitely doesn't dream of a face that is losing its hardness and a love she can feel seeping through the cracks in the walls.

Jackie doesn't understand and isn't ready to forgive. Rose is beginning to understand and contemplates forgiveness anyway. John understands why and begs for forgiveness both with words and without them. Ian forgives before he understands and then forgives after he understands and Rose looks at him and thinks maybe they did one thing right (she did most of it, but the boy is a walking miniature and no one can deny John's part).

The days pass. And then the weeks. Suddenly it's been six months and Rose walks home from the park holding one hand of a boy who is growing taller and she looks across his head at the man holding the boy's other hand and that night she doesn't shut the door in his face. 

They don't sleep together, but they do sleep together and she wakes up alone, but only for a minute. John's there before she has finished rubbing the sleep from her eyes and he sits cross-legged beside her and they open their mouths and speak. At first it's a trickle and then it becomes a river, pouring out and filling the space around them, insulating, protecting, creating new walls that are more comfortable and are designed to keep things in, not out.

He doesn't ask for more than she can give and she lets him back in because of it. And yes, the pain and hurt and anger and bitterness rears its head, but they are learning to use words as bridges and one day Rose looks at him and realizes what the feeling in her chest is and that night they learn the taste and shape of forgiveness on each other's skin.

It's not easy. Neither of them thought it would be, but some days it's harder than they had anticipated. But John shows her the canceled contract and that helps and then they sell the house and move to the country and that helps even more. Ian starts school and comes home and regales his parents with stories and sometimes it seems like the missing years are shrinking into something more manageable.

They aren't young anymore. That's a good thing. He has a job that sees him home at six and she has one that sees her out the door at seven so that someone is always there before and after school. It is nothing they had expected and everything they wanted and they spend it together, all three of them, living and laughing and creating and exploring. And building. Always building - a new life, a better life, a life together, a life that reminds the people around them that fairy tales are real.


End file.
